THE STORY OF DEAN AND MOLLY
by Elszy
Summary: Sam and Dean are caught in a storm in the mountains of Montana. I'll give away the punchline telling you more, so I suggest you read. H/C.
1. 1: Waking up

Okay, the usual first: don't owe them, etc.  
>Second: have fun!<p>

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><p><strong>1: waking up in Reno<strong>

'Shooo… hush… easy now… calm down… deep breaths…'

'...am...my..'

That must be me. My voice. Doesn't sound like me, though. I moan. At least, I think that that came from my lips. Not sure.

'No, it's not Sam. He's not here.'

That certainly doesn't sound like Sam. My head is filled with the worst hangover I have ever, ever had. Damn you Bobby for the cheap stuff. Liver cirrhosis is surely going to be a close companion one day, but there's no need to expedite its arrival.

I must open my eyes. Gawd, I'm sick. Where's Sam? I try to push myself up, but small yet firm hands usher me back. That's when I notice I'm in a bed that smells, if ever so lightly, of soap. Lavender, magnolia, freesia. I'm not sure, but it's not the couch at Bobby's or a scent I recognize from the sleazy motels Sam and I often use.

'Here, take a sip. You haven't had something to drink in days.' A straw is pushed between my lips and suddenly I notice how thirsty I am. My mouth is dryer than a cork in the Sahara.

'There, there… easy. Not too fast and not too much.'

By now I'm sane enough to understand a woman is at my bedside and helping me.

'...ospital..?' I manage to say.

'No, this is not a hospital. I'm Molly. You're at my place. I already told you.'

Molly. Molly who? I haven't got a clue. My head hurts so bad. Is this really a hangover or is it something different? A shiver racks my body. Am I running a fever? I'm cold too. And nauseous. Sick. Really sick.

Oh freakin' hell. I AM going to be sick.

I make an effort to roll to my side, but the bed topples over and the world collapses on top of me.

'...Easy… where're you going?… ssssh… calm down…'

Through the mist and the pain and the nausea I register her voice. What was her name again?

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><p>(to be continued).<p>

_I write for fun and live for reviews, so please bring them on!_


	2. 2: Lost Battle

**2: Lost battle**

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><p>'Montana is supposed to be beautiful this time of year!' Sam almost had to shout to make himself heard over the pouring rain that hammered the Impala.<p>

'The weather sure as hell ain't,' Dean answered in a tone likewise. He turned the wipes up a notch. They were hardly able to wash away the continuous rain, that swirled like a wildly flapping curtain in the stormy wind.

'We should reach Winchester in a couple of hours,' Sam said.

'Odd, a place that has the same name as we do, don't you agree?' Dean remarked.

'There are lots of Winchesters in America. But this is only one that has sightings and visions reported,' Sam reminded him.

'This storm being one of those,' grunted his brother, who kept his eyes on the road and his hands tightly around the large steering wheel. He had to remain focussed, peering through the grey haze of rain. The Impala had her four wheels firmly on the tarmac, but Dean could feel her losing her grip as the amount of rainwater grew faster and faster.

'We better hurry,' Dean said. 'My baby doesn't like wet feet.'

Sam sighed. He was sometimes at a loss over Dean's unrealistic relationship with the car, but he knew this was not a good time to make fun of it, so he kept quiet.

The wind jerked at the old trees in the forest the brothers had entered some time ago. It was pitch dark, although it was still daytime. A quick look on the dashboard told Dean it was only a quarter to four. The sun wouldn't set for at least three hours, but nevertheless it was dark as nighttime in the forest.

'Yup. Although I wonder if it's not just nature at work this time,' Sam said.

'Shut up, John Coleman. Since when have you become an expert on weather?'

'I'm just saying-'

What Sam was about to say got lost in the enormous thunderbolt that hit a giant oak tree, just a few feet from the Impala. The static electricity made the air hiss, the sound of the thunder roaring like a furious hound from hell, banging down on the car, echoing between Montana's hills.

'Look out!' Sam screamed.

'Sam! Look out!' Dean shouted in the same second.

The tree fell, effortlessly taking with it its neighbors, pulling large lumps of foliage, roots and dirt from the ground.

Dean gave a yank at the wheel and the Impala, already struggling to keep a grip on the soaking wet road, began to skid away. Wilder and wilder it spun, Dean unable to stop it from moving terrifyingly fast towards the side of the road. The headlights penetrated the darkness for only a few yards and suddenly the steady ground beneath them disappeared.

'Hold on!' shouted Dean.

There was no holding her. Dean's baby, the Impala he loved and trusted so much, was no match for the hurricane that hit the land. It happened fast. Not an endless loud cracking and screeching of metal and glass as movies want you to believe. No, it was nothing of the kind - just a short bang and it was over.

The storm moved on, leaving a trail of destruction behind...

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><p>(to be continued)<p> 


	3. 3: Fly like an eagle

**3: Fly like an eagle**

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><p>'Oooooh…' That's me moaning. My head. My neck. My… everything. Everything hurts. My chest feels like a ton of bricks is placed right on top of it. When I open my eyes everything is dark. There's pounding and hammering but I'm not sure if it's in my head or on the car. The noise outside seems louder than ever.<p>

Because despite the noise in my head, I know that I'm still in the Impala, however in a strange horizontal face-down position. I'm lying on the dashboard of the car with my face pressed tightly against the half-shattered windscreen. The pressure on my chest increases with every breath I take.

'D...Dean?' I mutter. He must be left of me, so I reach out with my left hand and find the place vacant. No Dean.

'Hold still, buddy. We'll have you out in minute.' A voice is close to me, coming from Dean's seat. 'My name is Peter, I'm with the fire brigade.'

Fire brigade? Where's the… is there a fire? Is the car on fire?

'Don't move, buddy. You hear me? We're gonna get you out,' Pete repeats. He directs his words to others, I hear him shouting over his shoulder. 'He's coming 'round! Let's get him out.'

'My brother…'

'The driver? We're looking for him. What's your name?'

'Sam,' I manage to say. There's something sticky on my lip. I don't even need to lick it to know what it is - blood. I recognize it anywhere anytime. The smell still triggers a creepy sensation deep inside of me, a hunger I control but which always lurks in the shadows of my past.

'Hi there. My name is Nicole, I'm a paramedic.' A voice pops up on my other side and when I cast a glance that way, I see a woman in a uniform, strapped in a harness, lowered down from somewhere up top. She's held in place by white and red ropes, like the stick of a blind man, I realize with a strange sense of detachment. 'I'm gonna put this brace around your neck.'

Really? No please. 'Don't. Not necessary.'

'I know you don't think it's very manly,' Nicole cheerfully says. 'Too bad for you. Believe me, you'll start feeling a lot better once I have this thing in place. Besides, girls dig injured guys.' Without much further ado, she professionally shoves a cool plastic collar around my neck. 'Sam, right? Can you tell me where you're hurting?'

'Everywhere,' I croak. But lo and behold, she wasn't lying. The collar slightly relieves the pain in my head and my neck and stops it from spreading down further. Finally the fog that's been clouding my vision is fading and now I see where I am.

On top of a bunch of trees.

It's unbelievable but the Impala has landed on treetops. Far beneath me whirls water, wild and fast. Although it's dark outside, I can see white rolls dancing when waves of the current hit the rocks. I'm almost in a ninety degrees angle above a river, surrounded by leaves, branches and the ever present rain. How long I've been up here I don't know.

My god, we were lucky. If these trees hadn't broken our fall, we'd be in big…

We…?

There is no we.

Dean? Dean? DEAN!

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	4. 4: Food, glorious food

**4: Food, glorious food**

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><p>I open my eyes, awoken by soft noises in an adjacent room. Someone's rummaging around in the kitchen, by the sound of it. This is the third time I wake up since my first eye-to-eye with Molly. Well - that's not entirely true. Molly's told me I've been awake for a minute or so a couple of times.<p>

I'm injured and I guess Cas wasn't in the neighborhood otherwise he'd have me fixed up with his magic finger-forehead trick. I swear I will never tell him he's a little prick again. Whatever it was that happened has left me pretty shattered. I'm concussed. My arm is broken and in a cast. I'm weak as a kitten and I know the reason - been there, done that: serious blood loss. The deep cold, the shivering and the overall consuming tiredness that come with anaemia are not symptoms I'm a stranger to. There are no bags of blood near me, so I guess it's up to my body to restore the natural order of things without any help.

Which might take longer than I like.

I wish I knew where Sam was. I've been trying to remember what happened, but it only worsens my headache and I can't stop falling asleep before I get to ask Molly about it.

Speaking of which… the door opens slightly.

'Hi Dean,' a friendly voice says and as I blink to focus in the dimly lit room, Molly comes in. 'I noticed you were waking up.'

'Hey,' I greet her. My voice is still hoarse.

'How are you feeling?'

'Oh, just peachy,' I try in a feeble attempt to brush away her mothering.

She laughs softly. 'Ah, a sense of humor. That's a good sign. I've made you some light soup. Are you up for something to eat? You think you can keep it down?' She checks my pulse and feels my forehead, but doesn't say anything to reassure me that I'm doing alright.

She hooks an arm behind my back, lifts me and helps me sit a little more upright. It's kind of shady in the room, but the second she opens the curtains to let some daylight in, I wince at the brightness.

'Sorry, sweetie,' she says when she spots my reaction, and quickly draws them again. She then turns on a little lamp next to the bed I'm in. 'It's such a beautiful day. We really needed that after the storms of the last couple of weeks. Thought they would never end.'

'Great,' I mutter, keeping my eyes closed for a few seconds. Moving too fast makes me dizzy. Sitting upright even makes me dizzy. Even the lamp on the bedside table makes me dizzy.

When I finally get it together again, she sets a tray in front of me.

'Can you manage?' she asks. 'Are you right handed?'

'I can manage,' I promise her and bring the spoon to my mouth. I'm an utter fool at this. Soups drips over my chin when I clumsily tilt the spoon before it reaches my lips. Shooting with my left hand is second nature, using cutlery is a totally different game. Molly pretends not to notice, which is both humiliating as well as considerate. 'You look better than a couple of days back. Some color coming back on your cheeks,' she says thoughtfully. 'That means you're on the mend.'

I take another spoonful, a bit more careful this time. 'Molly, have you seen my brother?'

'Sam? No, I'm sorry sweetheart. I asked Terence Junipus when he was here, but he hasn't heard anything.'

'Terrence who?'

'Junipus. The doctor. He's the one who checked you over.'

I know I should push on. I know I should ask when he was here. Why I'm not in a hospital. But somehow, that information falls apart in my brain. It never reaches my lips. I'm unable to add two and two, I'm totally incapacitated by my uncooperative brain.

The soup tastes alright, but it doesn't go down well. After I've eaten only a third of the contents of the bowl, I put the spoon down. 'I wish I could recall what happened.'

'You won't,' Molly says. 'I know a thing or two about concussions. You can try all you want, but you won't be able to remember. It's like it's not been recorded on your hard drive. You can't recover data that hasn't been stored.'

My stomach protests and beads of sweat break out all over my face.

'O dear, you're not going to keep that inside, are you?' Molly rhetorically asks and before I have time to say something witty, I feel bile rising and the soup coming back. Once that is out of the way and she has gently wiped my face with a washcloth, I'm drained. My head feels like a gazillion tons and heavily I let myself sink back in the pillows.

'You get some sleep Dean,' she says softly and with such sincere concern that I register that, even though I'm in a too pathetic state to take it in. 'I'll be out for some groceries, be back back as soon as I can. I'll see if anyone knows anything about your brother, I promise.'

I can't keep my eyes open. Despite the foul taste in my mouth, the pain that threatens to take over my sense of calm and Molly still talking, I sink away in oblivion.

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	5. 5: I'm sorry, son updt

**5: Sorry, son**

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><p>'I'm really, really sorry,' the sherif says, turning his brown hat around in his hands. 'We're still looking downriver but as is stands…'<p>

He doesn't finish his sentence. Doesn't need to. My heart races, it pumps my blood around so loudly that it drowns out all other sounds. Can't be. Not like this. If Dean goes, he goes with a bang. Ganking a bunch of demons, fighting off a hell hound, wrestling some punk-ass angel. He doesn't drown in a river, it can't be that banal.

'It's been four days,' the sherif says, his voice still laden with the seriousness of the case. 'We've gone over the area with a fine tooth comb. If he was still in the forest, we would have found him by now. My men know the place like the back of their hand.'

He doesn't add more. I've seen photo's of the Impala, the smashed front window. Dean must have been thrown straight through, there was blood everywhere. Without a seat belt he didn't stand a chance. The drop in the river, over forty feet beneath the car, could have broken his neck easily, if that wasn't already the case.

'But…' The message I have been dreading for the past days is beginning to strike home. Tiredly I lean back against the pillows, my broken ribs protesting vigorously as even that little bit of pressure is painful. The sherif shuffles his feet a little. He doesn't look like a man who's used to too much going on in his town. A car up in a tree and one missing man have shaken his steady life pretty much, I reckon.

'I'm calling off the search tomorrow if we haven't found him by then. I've contacted a couple of towns to warn them to look out for a bod… a man in the water. The river gives back what it takes, sooner or later.'

This can't be. This just can't be. My big brother, who's always keeping an eye on me, popped his clogs? Just like that? No heroic ending, he ends up as fish food instead?

'No,' I mutter. 'I don't believe it. He's not dead.'

'I'm sorry, son. I really am,' the sherif says. 'Take it easy, you hear?' After a nod he leaves the room and I'm alone with my thoughts.

Everything hurts but it's nothing compared to the void that's taking over. I feel like screaming, crying, cursing - but instead I do nothing. I just sit and before my mind's eye my brother's face appears. Laughing. Singing. Angsty. Happy. Worried. Sleeping. Clownesque. Determined. Thoughtful. Still. Lively. Broken. Dead.

Dean. Dead.

Dean. Dead.

Dean. Dead.

I've more or less missed the first two days here, when I was sleeping off the anesthetic. Sherif Grady appeared in my room when I was well enough to see some visitors. He's been around a few times after that, but his hopeful tone changed over the course of the days. Bobby came in yesterday, he's searching for Dean as well. Up till now, no news.

There's one more thing I can try.

'Castiel? Castiel, please hear my prayer. Dean's gone and no one can find him. I pray you do. Please answer my prayer,' I whisper. I don't need to add that I think he can - I know he does. He's my last hope. The softest flapping of angel wings tells me he's in the room with me. As usual our angelic friend looks tired and sloppy.

'Cas! Thank you for coming. Dean is––'

'I don't know where he is, Sam,' he interrupts.

'What?'

'I don't know. There's not a trace of him.'

I can't believe my ears. Cas has been on the lookout for us so often, it kinda feels natural that he knows where we are. 'But…'

'He hasn't contacted me. I don't feel his presence anywhere,' Cas says. He looks worried, then he tilts his head a little and eyes me surreptitiously. 'The protective runes on your bones have been damaged. I must restore them,' he says and before I have time to protest that he should wait until I've recovered, he steps forward and places his hand on my bandaged chest. The heat his hand sends through my ribcage makes me gasp for air, it is almost as if I can feel everything shifting back in place. A few seconds later my cracked ribs are no longer cracked, the runes have been repaired and I'm panting and wait for the steamroller-feeling to subside. Being healed by an angel is fast, but not necessarily the most pleasant of all treatments.

'I will look further,' Cas promises me. He takes a step back from the bed and is gone the next second. I don't wait any longer and get out of bed, pull the tubes and wires from my body and head for the cupboard. That's when the doctor comes in. 'Ho! Where do you think you're going?' he says sternly.

'I'm fine. I have to find my brother,' I tell him. 'Where are my clothes?'

'You're not fine. You've broken seven ribs. You're recovering from surgery!' the doctor says, clearly shocked.

'I'm fine,' I tell him impatiently. 'Really.'

'You're in shock,' the doctor tells me. 'You might feel okay now, which I doubt, but once the drugs wear off…'

'Doc, I'm fine.' I get dressed. When he sees how I slip into my jeans without hesitation or stiffness, a frown appears on his forehead.

'You're not in pain?'

'No.' I take off the hospital gown and try to find the beginning of the bandage around my chest. 'This can go.'

'No! Leave it!' The doctor is too stunned to believe his eyes, but I find what I'm looking for, peel off the bandages and unwrap myself. The doctor's mouth literally falls open when he sees my body once the bandages and the gauzes are gone. No bruises. No scratches. No cuts. No stitches. Nothing. Cas has done miracles once again.

'I… I…' He needs a moment to get his act together and I get dressed while he just stands there like a pillar of salt. It's then that I see the x-rays he's holding. 'I was wondering about all these marks on your bones…' he says slowly. 'I'm not sure how… what… how did they…'

'I dunno, doc. Always had them,' I lie easily and throw the last of my things in a hold-all. 'Thanks for everything.'

The doctor still stands completely flabbergasted in the room as I leave. I have to find Dean.

Dean, dude… where are you?

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	6. 6: Two weeks

**6: Two weeks**

I'm so frustrated about this bloody helplessness. I've been here for two weeks and I haven't been able to be out of bed for longer than a few minutes. Molly helps me to the bathroom for a pee, she washes me and by the time I'm back in bed and she's shaven me, I'm completely exhausted. I'm not sure if it's my head or the room that's spinning, but one of two refuses to stop moving. I've hardly eaten anything, despite Molly's efforts to prepare food my stomach can take. That plus the continuing confusion about what happened and worry about Sam's fate make me gloomy and doesn't exactly lessen the headache. Contacting Cas hasn't worked either. Either my prayers suck or his antenna's getting rusty.

Molly notices every tiny detail and knows when to talk to me or when to just stay quiet. Of course she does. She's a sweet lady, and she leaves me in peace most of the time. My current lodging is a pleasant, light room. Not very big, just a doublebed, a bedside table and a cupboard. A few bright paintings on the wall. Modern art. Don't know why, but they're not what I expected from my landlady.

Molly's fifty-something. About five foot six, has auburn hair with strands of grey. Light brown eyes, lips often curled in a warm smile. Once upon a time she might have been a pretty girl. No, pretty's not the word. Kind - that's more what suits her. The girl that no one really notices until something awful happens and she's the only one who turns out to be nice and helpful and considerate. That kind of girl. There's a wedding band around her finger, but no husband in the house. She doesn't look like mom, but she reminds me of her. Her gentleness, I suppose. Perhaps because she takes care of me. Doesn't question me, doesn't ask me anything unless I begin first.

Like this morning. I'm sitting on the porch in a comfortable chair, Molly's taken another one and in silence folds a big basket of laundry. It's hard to believe that it's been storming here like crazy a few weeks back. Bright light still makes me squint, but the feeling's not too bad and I can stay up a little longer every day. 'How did I get here, Molly?' At last my speech isn't slurred anymore, and my scrambled eggs are beginning to make some sense again.

She smiles. 'I told you a couple of times already, don't you remember?'

No, I don't. The past few weeks have been one long vague blurry movie. Nothing sticked but I have a better feeling this morning. Like I can actually absorb some of what I'm being told. 'Humor me,' I say.

'No problem. I'll tell it again. I drove home from Winchester, through Errep Forest. The weather was really horrible, wind and rain and hail… there was so much water running downhill… it was late in the afternoon, but pitch dark. Then you suddenly popped up in front of me, swaying over the road. You nearly ended up on the hood of my car. Clearly injured - your arm in a peculiar angle clutched against your tummy, blood running over your face and down your arm… And you were soaking wet of course. I got you into my car, drove to my house and you've been here ever since.'

'So I am where exactly?'

'Hoggevean. A few miles from Winchester.'

'Winchester?'

'Montana.'

'O yeah. Right. Why didn't you take me to a hospital?'

She laughs softly and folds a shirt that she puts on a neat pile. 'Sweetie, the nearest hospital is over two hours drive. In good weather conditions, that is. You needed help quickly. I doubt if you'd still be alive if I had taken you to the hospital.'

'O. Right.' Do I sound stupid or what?

'I helped you out as well as I was able to. Then, once you were in my bed, I went out to get a doctor. The landline has been dead since a storm last fall, and cell phones don't do much in these mountains, as you've already noticed.' She nods to my cell phone which sits on the table. I've tried to call Sam, but there was no reception whatsoever.

'Good afternoon y'all!' It's Terry Junipus, the doctor. He's been in every other day to check on me and give me pain medication. He's somewhat older than Molly and as far as I can tell, they buzz around each other like flies around horse shit, which gives me an eery sense of being stuck in some kind of odd midlife soap. Go and have sex, for the love of god. Get it over with!

'Hello Terry,' Molly says.

'Hi Molly. Hello Dean. How are you feeling today?'

Bored. Stiff. Still hurting. 'Fine,' I tell him. Of course there's no fooling an experienced doctor. He takes my pulse and shines a light in my eyes, to which I flinch in a reflex. 'You're a bit warm,' he says when he puts his hand on my forehead. 'Don't try and go too fast, Dean. It'll only take longer to recuperate.'

I shove away his hand. 'Enough with the pampering,' I grunt, though I try not to sound angry. He means well.

'Actually, I came because I have some news for you. I was in Winchester and I heard talk about weaponry in a black Chevy Impala. Now there aren't too many of those around, right?'

Hidden energy comes back in a sudden rush. 'What? What did he look like?'

'Who?'

'The bloke you heard. Talking about the car. What did he look like?'

'The man or the car? I haven't seen the ca… oh you man the man. Well, he was about my age, had a beard, wore a cap. But before I could talk to him he left.'

Bobby… if Bobby's in town, Sam must be too!

'That's my car. A black Impala.'

'I know. You told me. Several times,' Junipus nods. 'What about the guns?'

Normally a smooth lie would roll off my lips naturally, but again the concussion works against me. Not that I care, I don't need to explain the contents of the boot of my car to anyone. Sam! And Bobby! They're here! I throw aside the blanket that's covering my lap and stand up.

Oooooh…

Bad move, Dean, bad move.

'Terry!'

A few minutes later I'm in bed again, knackered, nauseous, cursing myself for the sudden move. My ears are still ringing, a cut in my hand shows where I hit the cups on the table as I lost my balance and my legs turned to rubber. Junipus was too late to catch me.

Damn, damn, damn!

I fight it, but I lose.

Darkness takes over.

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	7. 7: bird nor plane

**7: Bird nor plane**

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><p>When Sam walked out of the hospital, he spotted a familiar figure, scanning the entrance, eyes hidden under a faded blue cap. Bobby?<p>

'Hey Sam!'

'Bobby!'

The two men grabbed each other firmly in a tight hug for a moment. 'Boy, it's good to see you,' Bobby said as he let go of Sam. From under his cap Bobby's eyes went from Sam face to his feet and back. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine,' Sam said truthfully. 'Cas came in. Gave me a once over and I was good to go. Have you seen Dean? Tell me he's with you.' The plea sounded almost desperate, Sam's brown eyes searching for confirmation that his brother was safe and sound at home.

But Bobby shook his head slowly. 'Dean? No. Is he gone?'

'Been missing since the accident,' Sam hurried to say. 'Are you sure he hasn't–'

Bobby interrupted him. 'Nothing. Not a phone call, text message… nada. Dit you ask Cas?'

Now it was Sam's turn to shake his head. 'Yeah, but he said he couldn't tune in, he couldn't find him.' He rubbed his chin and felt his greasy hair. A shower and a shave, that's what he needed. 'How did you get here, Bobby?'

'Got an alert from an online friend that the Impala had been in a freak accident. Pretty amazing pic too. Car on top of trees - now there's something you don't see every day. I did some checking out and heard you were been injured, but I didn't get any info on Dean. I rang the hospital only a couple of minutes ago. Girl tells me you kinda miraculously healed yourself and decided to check out. I damn well nearly missed you.'

Sam told him about what happened. The storm, the car going over the edge and him blacking out to find Dean was gone when he woke up and half his chest had been cracked. Then he told Bobby about the sherif and the results of the search so far. No Dean. In fact, not a single trace of his brother. No pieces of clothing, a lost shoe, perhaps his cell or some stuff that could have fallen from his pocket: nothing. Only a lot of blood on the broken window and the side of the car. Gloomily, he ended with the sherif's careful words that Dean could very well have drowned in the river.

'Nah,' Bobby said in an almost carefree tone. 'Not Dean. He'll pop up, I'm sure.'

'I don't know, Bobby. It was steep slope, a deep fall and the river is pretty wild,' said Sam doubtfully. 'If he was alright, he would have called me. Contacted me.' He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly looked tired.

Bobby felt a cold chill running down his spine. It was unlike Sam to believe that his brother was dead. They both were so keen on keeping each other safe from all the bad motherfuckers in the world, that they sometimes seemed to forget that they too, could simply become a victim of an accident. Was Sam finally beginning to understand that he and his brother were only human too?

'Come on, Sam. Let's get out of here,' Bobby said and squeezed Sam gently and reassuringly in his shoulder, then he opened the door to his car. 'You better sit this one out.'

'What are you going to do?' Sam asked, confused.

Bobby slipped behind the wheel, Sam took the other seat. 'I'm going to get Dean's car back. And the content of the boot. Since the sherif's already been talking to you a couple of times, I doubt you can just walk in and make him believe you're an FBI-agent.'

'But…'

'Let me handle this one,' Bobby cut short whatever objections Sam was about to utter.

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><p>'FBI, I'm agent Derek Mason,' Bobby said, looking sharp in his dark blue suit that he kept for occasions like these. Odd that just wearing a suit brought a certain trust in the people you faced, he mused. You could be a stonecold killer – as long as you wore a suit, hardly one would consider that to be real. This time was no different. 'I'm here for the Chevrolet Impala?' He waved with his ID.<p>

The sherif got to his feet quickly and shook Bobby's hand. 'Nice to meet you, the name's Grady. I'm surprised the bureau took an interest,' he said and guided Bobby through the sherif's station to the back.

'The car's been stolen from an FBI storage,' Bobby said smoothly. 'We've been looking for it for quite a while before it turned up here.'

'Do you know what's in the boot?' asked sherif Grady. Bobby was careful. Of course he knew, but he didn't know how much Grady thought he knew. He needn't worry. The question was more a rhetorical one. 'Let me tell you, agent Mason - it's the weirdest collections of weapons I've ever seen. I've been wanting to ask that young fella about it, but he checked himself out earlier this morning. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard it - he was in a pretty bad shape last time I saw him.'

'Tall guy, mid twenties, brown hair?' inquired Bobby, playing his role with verve.

'Yeah! Is he felon? Did he steal the car?'

'No.' Bobby shook his head. 'He's with the bureau. He was undercover. He's been picked up this morning to be treated in an FBI facility.'

Grady frowned. 'What?'

'It's all a matter of insurance,' Bobby said with a sigh. 'You know what they're like these days, sherif. Everything by the book.'

'Ah right. Tell me about it… He was talking about the other guy, the one who's missing. Said he was his brother,' Grady said and pulled a key from chain in his pocket, to which he opened the door to a large lockup.

'Part of the undercover story. He's kept it up pretty well, by the sound of it. Even in his state not forgetting that he's undercover… amazing.' Bobby nodded with the appropriate sense of respect in his face.

The sherif imitated him without realizing he did. 'You can say that again. Amazing.'

There, finally, stood the Impala. Damaged but not as badly as Bobby had expected. The sherif opened the boot and lifted the extra layer to reveal what was underneath. 'Peculiar arms. And what would anyone need that much salt for?' He pointed to the large stash of salt bags under the guns.

'Beats me. That's exactly what I'm working on,' Bobby said. 'I'll get the trailer. We'll put it up, and I'll be out of your hair, sherif.'

Grady still looked kind of puzzled but he nodded. 'You do that. I'll get the paperwork.'

After that Bobby walked back to his car. Sam sat hidden behind yesterday's newspaper and actually seemed to be reading. He put the paper down the instant the older man opened the door.

'And?'

'She's there. She needs some stitching up, but she done a great job considering she's neither bird nor plane. Dean will be thrilled to get her all fixed up again.'

Sam's face said it all. Yeah. Dean would be over the moon that his dream machine had survived. That was, if he would actually show up…

* * *

><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	8. 8: Back in business

**8: Back to business**

* * *

><p>Dean had forgotten how tiring it was to have a concussion, even though he had been in similar circumstances quite a few times. But after all these weeks, his body was too rested to fall asleep, even though his head still needed the time off. Normally, he could fall asleep day or night, take a catnap when he could, sleep in when it was possible. But by now, his back ached from being in bed and he could feel his muscles screaming for some exercise. The problem was still his damn head.<p>

'I'm no stranger to concussions myself,' said Molly when he put on his shirt, giving up her attempts to keep him in bed. 'I know it's driving you up the walls, but you have to take it easy, sweetheart. If you push it, you'll be having a lot of headaches at very inconvenient moments.'

'You have headaches?'

She chuckled, to which a cute dimple appeared in her cheeks. 'No. But someone I was close to had. He also thought he was invincible.'

'I don't think…' Dean shut his mouth. She was right, in a way. He thought he was. In fact - he sometimes KNEW he was. 'Who thought he was invincible? Your husband? Your kid?'

'Don't stress that pretty head of yours, Dean,' Molly said and opened the window to air the room.

Dean grabbed her hand. 'Molly - where's your husband? You've got the wedding band right there, but no one to match it.'

For a second Dean thought she would pull her hand back, but to his surprise she put her small hand on his fingers. They were soft and warm. 'He passed away years ago, sweetheart. I've been living here ever since.' There was so much sadness and endearment in her voice, that Dean instantly felt a pang of regret.

'I'm sorry, Molly. I'm… I didn't mean…'

She gently smiled. 'That's all right. I know you don't.'

The cast still made him clumsy, but the pain in his arm had lost its sharp edges and Dean managed to get his shirt on without help. He wrestled with the fly and button of his jeans, but he managed. When he was done getting dressed he felt fatigue lurking in the corner, but the sense of victory was stronger.

'Where are my shoes?' he asked.

'Your shoes? Do you plan on going somewhere?' Molly asked, surprised.

'Yes. I want to go to town. I have to find my brother.'

'I don't think that's a good idea,' Molly objected.

'Molly, you're a marvel but you don't want me around much longer. I need to get going.'

'Dean, you won't last an hour,' she said, shaking her head.

Dean shrugged. 'I've been through worse. I just need to go. I have to find my brother, let him know I'm alright.' _And I have to know that he is alright_, he thought to himself.

'Dean…'

'The doc told me he rang those numbers I gave him, but there was no answer, right? I have to find out what's happened.'

'But…'

'To be honest, I don't understand how no one's been answering those calls. I can imagine one or two busy or out of order, but not all five of them. The doc was probably fed up with being my errand boy. I need to do this, Molly. Is there an internet cafe in town?'

'Errr… I'm not sure. I'll ask Terry if…'

'Molly, please!' He snapped. It came out rather harsh. Not the way he intended to. Molly closed her mouth, looking slightly taken aback.

A bit embarrassed he looked round and spotted his shoes next to the bedside table. He made sure he didn't rise too quickly when he picked up a shoe from the ground. He wiggled his foot in, but tying the laces with one arm bent in a cast, was a whole different ballgame. A bit helplessly he looked at the smudgy shoelaces, then pushed them inside his shoes. He didn't understand how people could walk around with untied shoes - that was exactly the thing that could make or break a hunt, running after a demon and then tripping over your own shoelaces.

Molly saw him struggling, knelt down without a word and tied his laces for him. That simple gesture made Dean even more uncomfortable. He loathed being so helpless. Molly was so gentle, cared for him, asked little or nothing in return. The only thing he had done so far was sleep in her bed, use her bathroom and eat her food. And when she expressed her concerns for his all-too-soon self-proclaimed recovery, he snapped at her.

He'd been nothing but grumpy the past few days. What drove her to remain so calm and patient with him? He knew very well he wasn't the guy with nicest attitude when he was sick.

'Are you sure you're up to it?' Molly tried one more time and got up. When she saw the determination in his face, she gave in. 'Okay, smart ass. I'll take you to town.'

Dean sighed, ashamed and irritated over his own curtness. 'I'm sorry, Molly, I didn't mean to snap at you. I appreciate your concern, I do. But I've slept enough, I'm rested, I feel fine. You've done all anyone could ask for and more. I'm worried about my brother. It's time that I get back to business.'

'Okay. If that's what you want…' she said and nodded. 'Follow me.'

* * *

><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	9. 9: Junipus

**9: Junipus**

* * *

><p>Sam pushed his chair away from table with the laptop and blinked a few times to get the gritty feeling from his eyes. Six disappearances over the last ninety years in this county. Actually not much considering the time span and the vast Montana forests.<p>

'No, I guess,' Bobby nodded when Sam vented his thoughts. 'An unexperienced person easily loses his way in the forest, might get eaten by a bear, wolves…'

Dean, attacked by a bear? Sam shook his head to chase that image away. No. There was still hope. He had to be out there somewhere. Sam wasn't ready to accept that his brother might not have survived the past four days. That's how long it had been, and every hour that passed made him more uncomfortable. The trail was getting colder by the minute. He and Bobby had been driving around for hours, they had contacted sheriff Grady but to no avail. Dean was gone. Vanished.

'So the storm was just natural phenomenon then,' Sam said and yawned.

Bobby threw him a granola bar. 'Eat. I don't think so. Too sudden, too much. Is there some kind of weather report you can find that matches the times of those disappearances?'

Sam tore the wrapper from the bar. 'Ninety years is a lot of time to go back. Earliest weather report that I can find here is dated… May 1951.'

'There's a lot of farmland here too. Sometimes farmers keep records of weather conditions. That was in the good old days when computers didn't exist and demons were just honest filthy villains.'

Sam chuckled. 'Maybe we can check at the local newspaper? There might be more records on those missing persons as well. That's on…' he looked it up: 'Junipus Street.'

'All right. Junipus Street it is then.' Bobby said.

* * *

><p>A sign above the door said The Winchester Daily. At the reception sat a thirty-something woman, who stood up the moment the friends came in. She eyed them as if they were a walking talking bag of M&amp;Ms.<p>

'Well hello there. How can I help you fine gentlemen?'

'We'd like to see some old newspapers, if that's alright,' Sam said.

'Well of course, that's why keep the archives, that's what they're here for. Come in, gentlemen. My name is Brenda Brocking. What did you say yours were?'

'We didn't,' grunted Bobby, but Sam, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one, produced an award-winning smile and said: 'I'm Sam Winchester, this is my uncle Bobby.'

'Your name actually is Winchester?' asked Brenda incredulously, taking the bait within a second.

'It is. We're doing research on towns called Winchester, for obvious reasons. So if possible, we'd like to know a little bit more about this place. Its history, remarkable events that have taken place here, famous people, birth houses...' Sam summed up.

'The first Winchester Daily originates from 1927,' Brenda said and walked the men to large archive in the back of the building. She showed them shelves full of old, yellowish books with thick grey covers. ''These are all the copies we have. We're working on digitalizing them, but that does take a while, so I'm afraid you'll have to do with leafing through them books. Will that do?'

'It's a fine place to start, miss Brocking,' Bobby said.

'Call me Brenda, Bobby,' the clerk said and flashed Bobby a smile.

'She likes you, _Bobby,_' whispered Sam.

'Shut up,' the older man grunted.

* * *

><p>'There's not much out of the ordinary now, is there?' Bobby said after some time. 'Two of the six missing persons you found, haven't even been mentioned in here.' He tapped on a page with a story about a new book collection for the local library. 'Have you seen this? This name keeps popping up. Junipus. Like the street.'<p>

'The name of the library across the street.'

'There's a drugstore over on Main Street. I think it's also called Junipus.'

'Maybe we should ask your new best friend,' Sam said. Brenda Brocking had been eyeing them quite conspicuously each time he looked up. 'Wait, here she comes.'

Brenda had decided that the way to a man's heart was probably through coffee and donuts, because she put a tray down on the table, right in front of Bobby's nose. 'Now there. Such hard workers - you need to take care of yourself, Bobby.'

'Oh. That's very kind of you, Miss Brocking,' Bobby stammered.

'Brenda. Just Brenda,' she said. 'Is everything to your satisfaction?' She put so much emphasis on that last word, that Sam could hardly keep himself from bursting out in a laugh. Bobby looked kind of uncomfortable.

Sam nodded. 'Now that you ask… what or who is Junipus? We've come across that name in the papers, seen it a few times here in town. The library, the street, the drugstore…'

Brenda didn't correct him on that last suggestion, so he assumed he was right.

'Junipus? You mean you don't know? Talk about the town's history… now there's a story you want to hear. You mind?' Before either man could say a word, she sat down on the chair next to Bobby. 'I love red beards. Reminds me of strength. It's very masculine. So handsome. Very strong.'

'Err… Junipus?' Bobby cleared his throat. Sam swallowed away a giggle.

'Ah yes. Of course.' The librarian crept a little closer to Bobby, then leant forward over the table to incorporate Sam in the conversation. She lowered her voice. 'It's very, very sad. Still brings tears to my eyes, when I think about it.'

She pushed her glasses a bit higher up her nose and began. 'Once upon a time, long long ago…'

'It's a fairytale?' Bobby asked, producing just the right amount of disbelief even though he was always very interested in the bizarre, even if it meant listening to fairytales. He moved a little away from her, ever so unnoticeably but Brenda only moved in a little closer. She put her hand on his and said: 'Oh no, you silly! Fairytales! Fairies don't exist!'

Suddenly Dean's face appeared before Sam's mind's eye. His brother would have shrugged and said something like: _believe me, lady - you're so wrong. _Or he wouldn't have said anything at all and just rolled his eyes.

'At the end of the nineteenth century,' Brenda said, not noticing Sam's face, 'a young couple came to live in Winchester. Terence was a handsome young doctor, Molly was his wife. They were the loveliest couple, you know. He was a doctor and set up a practice in his house, she was his right hand in almost every field. Equally skillful in medicine, kind, caring - and very charming too. In a couple of years they had established a name for themselves. People came from miles around for a consult.'

'So what was so sad? That they couldn't watch _Days of our lives _back then?' Bobby couldn't hold back a mocking tone, but Brenda didn't notice or chose not to.

'Patience, Bobby. Taste some of them donuts, they're really good.' She looked at him with clear lust in her eyes. 'If I would have known you came, I would have–'

'Miss Brocking, what was the sad part?' Sam interrupted.

She tore away her eyes from Bobby. 'The doctor died. There was an explosion of some sort in his house. It was an accident, he was killed in the fire. It was a black day for Winchester, of course. Junipus had been very kind to the community so his death was mourned by everyone.'

'But surely being a kind doctor is not a reason for naming a street, a drugstore and a library after him?' Sam asked.

Brenda nodded. 'You're absolutely right. It wasn't just good medicine that gave him fame. Junipus had been rich, old money, you know. He founded the library, and gave money to the elementary school and such. Putting his name on the library was a tribute the town council never meant to happen posthumously, I guess.'

'What happened to Mrs Junipus?'

'That's where the story gets really dramatic,' Brenda said with glistening eyes, obviously enjoying telling about sad and dramatic things. 'The Junipus mansion had been damaged beyond repair by the explosion and the fire that followed. The doctor and his wife had a small summerhouse a few miles outside Winchester. Mrs Junipus, completely heartbroken by the loss of her beloved husband, moved there. She kept very much to herself, didn't open the door to visitors and withdrew further and further from the village she once felt so comfortable in. A few weeks after Junipus' death, she found out she was pregnant. Just imagine what she must have felt like… all alone, in the early stages of pregnancy...'

Despite her sensation-ridden tone, Sam found himself mesmerized by Brenda's story.

'The next months are a bit unclear, she lived in the hills, every now and then seen by a local when she bought food. But she appeared in town on a Sunday, seven months after her husband's death, with in her arms a small bundle. A baby. A boy. It was dead. She asked for a burial in sacred ground, but since the baby wasn't christened, she was refused this request.'

'I thought you said the villagers loved her and her husband?' Bobby said. 'Talk about getting the door slammed in your face.'

'It wasn't the community that refused - it was a local priest. Because what she told him, he was convinced she was possessed by or had done dealings with a demon. The fact that the baby died was a clear sign from God, he said. Mrs Junipus told him that, with still two months to go, she woke up with severe pains. Instantly, she knew something was wrong with her baby. In pain and utter despair, she screamed out for her husband and – according to the story – her cry went beyond the boundaries of death. The doctor appeared and operated on her, saving her life. The baby was stillborn.'

'Really?' Bobby's eyebrows sank a little. 'A _ghost _performed a Caesarian?' If only Brenda had known why he furrowed, she'd probably not looked as delighted as she did.

'What happened?' Bobby asked. 'What did she do with the baby?'

'No one saw it happen, but she buried the baby in the garden of the Junipus house. That fact only became apparent about sixty years ago when a realtor bought the estate and tore down the ruins of the place to build a new house there. He found the remains of a baby, heard about the story of Junipus and his wife and gave the little boy a proper burial.'

'And what happened to Mrs Junipus?'

Brenda smiled. 'No one really knows. She left the town and never came back. She must have died in the hills, perhaps perished in the river. Some people say they still see her ghost wandering the hills from time to time, trying to reunite with her dead husband. That does sound ever so romantic but of course that just local folklore.'

'Where did you say that summerhouse was?' Sam said with a deep frown on his forehead.

'The village was called Hoggevean, but there's nothing left.'

'Why not?'

'It's been completely wiped away by the great storm of '64.'

'Hoggevean? Which direction was that?'

'Up north. In Errep Forest.'

Sam's eyes flashed to Bobby. Errep Forest.

The spot where the boys had the accident.

* * *

><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	10. 10: Hairpins and ferns

**10: Hairpins and ferns**

* * *

><p>The fresh, open air was like the embrace of an old friend. It was so good to be outside and walk a bit after all that lying in bed and sleeping and sitting and doing nothing. Dean breathed in and out deeply. Great to feel some freshness after all this time.<p>

'Nice?'

'Yes. Good to be out,' Dean said.

'Just let me open the gate,' said Molly and picked up her pace to head for a white wooden fence that set the perimeter of her property. 'Be right back.'

Dean slowly turned around to take in his surroundings. He had only seen Molly's house from the inside and from what he could see from the porch on which he and Molly had been sitting, often in the company of the doctor. Speaking of which: the last few days Terrence hadn't shown his face as much as he had done a few weeks back. Obviously Dean was getting better, otherwise the doc would still have checked in on him.

A cry of a bird came from overhead, and Dean looked up to see an eagle, gracefully sliding on the wind with enviable ease. Then a sudden crack in the undergrowth came from behind, and - years of training and living on the edge kicking in - he swiveled around, half expecting something to come after him.

It was nothing. The wind. A rabbit maybe.

O boy… that turn was a bit too fast. Dean felt the ground moving under his feet but Molly walked in a straight line so it must be him, not the earth. For a few seconds he had to hold on to a tree, but when Molly turned back to him, he quickly let go and produced his best smile.

'You okay, sweetie?'

'Great. Where's the car?'

'Right here,' said Molly, turned the corner and opened the door to a large shed. Inside stood a car that took Dean's breath away. 'This is your car?'

'My very own baby. Ain't she sweet?' Molly beamed.

Dean approached the car with the same feeling he had when he saw his own baby. 'What a beauty,' he muttered. 'Ford Fairlane… what… 59?'

'The man knows his classics,' Molly nodded approvingly. 'Almost… 57. Yes, quite nice, isn't she?'

Dean knew he ought to sit down, but the car worked on him like a magnet. He carefully walked around, let his hand slide over the smooth surface and admired the chrome accents.

'Hop in,' Molly said and took her seat behind the wheel.

_Hop_ in was hardly the word. Dean got in and swallowed hard. O my… maybe this wasn't such a good idea. For a second he closed his eyes.

'Dean?' Molly's voice was close, warm and worried.

'Just a dizzy spell,' Dean said. 'It's okay. Start the car.'

Molly, by now used to Dean's stubbornness, decided it was better not to argue. 'Okay, if you say so,' she softly said and did as she was told. Smoothly the engine came to life and Molly drove the caramel coloured Ford out of the shed. She stopped at the point where the driveway crossed the road.

'What's up? Why are you stopping?'

'One thing, Dean Winchester. You want to go to town, I'll drive you. Fine. But if you feel like vomiting, you tell me instantly. Because if you do throw up in the car, you'll clean it up yourself. Today.' Her smile spread even wider, but the message was clear: she was just as careful with her car as Dean was with his.

'Fine,' Dean said. 'Go.'

'Good. And now that we've got that out of the way...' She took a right turn onto the road. Dean kept his gaze fixed on a steady point. _Stop swaying. Stop swaying._ 'Tell me 'bout the car?' he said, hoping a bit of chit-chat would take his mind of the unsteady feeling in his stomach.

'My husband bought it years ago. Love at first sight. After his death I kept on to it. I do the maintenance myself, you know.'

'What?' Somehow Dean couldn't picture Molly fiddling under the hood of a car, but she told him ins and outs about the engine so enthousiastically, that he quickly changed his mind. Obviously, she knew what she was talking about.

Driving wasn't as pleasant as he had hoped. 'How far to town?' he asked after a while.

'It's just twelve miles, so not… hoooo!' She hit the breaks so hard that Dean could only just keep himself from flying off the seat and smacking against the window.

'Bugger,' Molly said. A huge pine tree was blocking the road. There was no way she could go around it. 'I'm afraid that this way's closed today,' she said with a sigh of regret.

'Bugger indeed,' Dean grunted. 'Terrific. Just great.'

Molly drummed the wheel in thought, then turned around. 'Too bad. We'll have to take the road down the other side of the mountain. We'll get there, don't worry, but it's a bit of a detour.' She threw him a sideways glance. 'Don't you think tomorrow would be...'

'Just drive, Molly. I'm okay.'

Twenty minutes later Dean wished he hadn't agreed to the detour. He wished Molly would drive back to her home. Hell, he wouldn't mind if she ushered him straight to bed. The road went from left to right, up and down and after every hairpin Dean bit back the bile that rose in his throat.

'Stop! Molly, stop the car!' he suddenly cried out after what seemed the umpteenth time the road made a sharp turn. He was only just in time to get out, double over and empty the contents of his stomach in the ferns that grew by the side of the road. He couldn't stop shaking, tremors racking his body, and when he tried to stand up, the ground was suddenly very close.

Molly got him before he would land facedown in the dirt.

'Come on tough guy. Let's get you home. You've done enough sightseeing for one day,' she said softly, pushed him back into the Ford and drove home very, very slowly.

How he got from the car into the house and into bed, he didn't know.

* * *

><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	11. 11: Woodchopper

**11: Woodchopper's ball**

* * *

><p>'I should have thought of it earlier,' Bobby said, gritting his teeth. He yanked so hard at the wheel that the rear tyres of the pick-up slipped sideways on the tarmac. 'I only added one and one after that Brenda-woman told us about Molly. Remember her words? <em>Her ghost is still wandering the hills from time to time, trying to reunite with her dead husband<em>.'

'So what?' Sam braced himself with every turn Bobby took with foolish speed.

'Molly's been connecting with the spirit of her late husband,' the older man said.

'Meaning?' said Sam. Bobby's behavior rubbed off on him. If Bobby was pressed for time, he had every reason for it.

'The wife's doc missed her husband so much that she tried to get in contact with him.'

'That's not so strange, is it? People turn to psychics or ouija-boards to do the same.' Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose. He missed Dean. Dean's stupid remarks. Dean's bickering. Dean's incredulous tone. Dean's poor jokes. He missed his brother and while he was trying to find him and kept his mind on practical matters, the feeling was bearable. But the moment he let down his guard he felt despair stretching out to him, chewing away his self confidence. He'd grown so accustomed to having his brother around, that he couldn't bear the thought of being without him.

'Sam? You're still with me?'

Sam snapped out of his unexpected reverie. 'Go on.'

'Listen here. Molly was heartbroken when her husband died, right? She literally cried out to her husband - _summoning_ for lack of a better word - when she was in labor, in danger of dying. She needed medical help and lo and behold: her late husband came back from the dead to help her.'

'I still don't get it. What does this have to do with Dean?'

'Molly accidentally stumbled on a way to see her husband: by calling out for him when she was on the verge of dying herself. It worked, he saved her life. What if she used others to call upon his help again? A lost hiker in the woods, a woodchopper who got caught under a tree...'

'Wait a minute…' Sam began to understand what Bobby's was going for.

'There was an account in the newspaper archive of a woodchopper who was found trapped under a tree. He had lost a lot of blood, had broken bones and was very weak, but he was still alive… weeks after he'd been gone missing!'

'But…'

'Right. That's impossible. He was supposed to be dead. He told everyone that he had been saved by a woman and a doctor who took care of him, so naturally the doctors thought he was delirious and confused and shell shocked and all that crap. In fact, some doctors said he had been using LSD which made him see things that weren't real.'

'When was this?' Sam tried to get his mind around it.

'In the seventies.'

'You think it's true? That woman was Molly?'

'Molly with the help of her husband.'

'But it can't have been Molly. She was in her twenties at the end of the 19th century. She would have been ninety or so. Not an age to rummage around in the forest unnoticed.'

'I think it was her ghost, Sam. Somewhere along the line, her body died, but she kept on doing what she always did: providing medical care to those who needed it because that way she could be with the one she loved.'

'And you think she's found Dean?' A chill ran down Sam's spine. Bobby's tone made it very clear that this story was not going to have a happy ending.

'Each time Molly encountered a person in need, she could summon her husband. So, why should she let such a patient go? It was the only thing that kept her husband close to her. The four other men who have disappeared in the forest - I bet you dollars to donuts that their remains are in the same place where Dean is.'

_(to be continued)_


	12. 12: Mirror, mirror on the wall

**12: Mirror mirror on the wall**

Dean woke up feeling miserable, fever wreaking havoc with his body. Yesterday's trip down the mountain hadn't done him any good. But stronger than the fever was Dean's will to get up and try again. He wanted to get out, away from this place. He needed to see if Sam was okay, he had to find out what happened to him, the uncertainty drove him crazy. He missed his kid brother. They could really drive each other nuts from time to time, but all in all Sam was just about the only one who kept Dean together. It was a two-way street. He had to be there for his brother. Sammy.

How long had he been here? Weeks on end, that was certain. His arm must be healed by now. He got out of bed, grabbed his jeans and searched for his pocket knife. Clumsily he cut through the fabric that held the makeshift cast in place. Molly had done a thorough job. Small wooden planks were tied closely together, stabilizing the broken bones and limiting its movement, but once Dean had cut away the bandages the rest was easy. A collection of gauzes seemed plastered to his arm, and when he peeled one off, a neat line of stitches showed. Molly had told him he had lost a lot of blood, so that must have been from all these cuts.

His arm was stiff, but now that the hindering cast was gone, Dean felt a lot more mobile. He knew it would take a while before he could use it properly, but getting rid of the thing was a good start.

He got dressed and checked himself in the only mirror in the house, a small tile that was attached to the door of the closet. His skin was pale, the tiredness in his green eyes told the story of a long-running, serious injury. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead. 'Come on Dean. You still look hot, chicks dig guys with scars. Get your ass out of here,' he said to himself, hoping the pep talk would give him the energy to see this through. He was shaking slightly, the fever had a firm grip on him. There was a jar of aspirin on the nightstand, but for once Dean decided against it. He was already kinda fuzzy in the head, those things would only make it worse.

'Hey. You're up? And… what have you done… you took off the cast?' Molly's voice made him look up. He hadn't seen or heard her coming in.

'Yeah, it feels fine now.' Dean couldn't look her in the eyes. He felt guilty for doing what he was about to do, but he had to leave. He turned and scanned the room for his belongings.

'Going somewhere?' Molly asked.

'To Winchester,' Dean said. 'You don't need to drive, I'll do it myself.'

'Oh, is that right? Did I miss something? Were you not the man sitting in the car next to me yesterday, urging me to pull over, being sick by the side of the road?' Molly said sarcastically. She took a step forward and ever so lightly touched his forehead. 'You're running a fever. No way you are going anywhere, let alone drive my car.'

'Molly, I'm leaving,' Dean said.

'You can't.'

'Watch me.'

'Why? You're not fit, even though you say you are.'

'I told you, I have to find my brother. Sam is the only one I have in the world. I can't stay here.' Dean stashed what little he had in his pockets and put on his coat. 'I don't want to be rude or anything Molly, but it's been enough. My brother needs me. He must be going out of his mind with worry.'

'Frankly, I think it's you who's going out of his mind,' Molly said coolly.

The change in her tone made Dean look up. It sounded very different from all the patient and kinds things she had said to him over the past weeks.

'Look Molly, I'm not trying to be ungrateful but…'

'You can't leave,' she said. 'I won't let you.'

'Molly?'

'You can't leave! The doctor will be here to check you out, that fever is not good!'

'No more freakin' doctor! I'm outta here!' Dean raised his voice. 'You hear me?'

Molly approached him. The smile on her face was still there, but her eyes had a weird, unearthly glow to them. 'I'm sorry Dean. You have to stay.'

There was something in the corners of his eyes. Just a split second, and it took a moment to register but then he felt a prickling sensation in the back of his neck. The door to the closet was still slightly ajar and Dean saw himself in the tiny mirror.

When Molly came closer, she didn't notice the mirror.

Despite his head and the fever and the upcoming dizziness, he was absolutely sure that he was not dreaming.

There was no reflection of Molly in the mirror.

'Get. Back. In. Bed.' She ordered.

'What are you? A ghost?' Dean shrieked, taking a step back. No gun, no rock salt, no silver knife - there was nothing to defend himself with.

'Don't you worry your pretty head about that,' she said and with one movement of her hand, she send him flying against the back board of the bed.

Just a split second before the lights went out, Dean knew it. He was in real trouble.

* * *

><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	13. 13: Déjà Vu

**14: Déjà vu**

* * *

><p>Bobby drove the car as far as possible, until the foliage was so thick and the trees grew so closely together that he couldn't go any further. The two men jumped out and gathered the necessary stuff from the boot. Then Bobby gave Sam a list of numbers, which he punched into the GPS.<p>

'What are these coordinates, Bobby?'

'That's where Hoggevean used to be. I wrote them down after Brenda told me that the Junipus summer house was there.'

Dusk was soon to settle in and Sam checked the battery of the flashlight one more time. 'Let's go.' With the GPS in his hand, Sam led the way and Bobby followed. 'What can we expect, Bobby?'

'Remains of a village, ruins maybe, I don't know. Something out of the ordinary.' Bobby stepped over a large tree trunk. He held the EM-monitor and after every fifty yards he scanned the area. 'They're here somewhere, Sam. I'm sure of it. Ghosts and spirits always go back to the place they come from. They hardly move around.'

After half an hour Sam stopped in the middle of a small clearing. 'This is it, Bobby.' Slowly he made a three-sixty turn. Two or three vague shapes that once must have been walls were still erect, but apart from that there was nothing else. Nothing but tree, bushes, undergrowth. No Dean. 'Are you picking up anything?'

'Not yet.' Bobby shook his head. 'Let's start from here.' He held the EM-monitor in front of him and walked in circles, larger and larger, further away from the place Sam had indicated as the starting point. Sam followed Bobby closely, the salt rifle in one hand, the flashlight in the other.

A soft beep and lights turning the spectrum on the EM-reader from green to red and back made Bobby and Sam stiffen in their walk. 'We're close,' whispered Sam and he looked over Bobby's shoulder to see the little device flickering. 'Which way?'

Bobby just nodded a little to the right. 'Be careful,' he said softly.

Sam raised the gun and the two men moved on. The forest didn't change and apart from the clearing where they had started their scan, the dark green was the same everywhere.

'No houses. No ruins,' Sam mumbled. 'No remains.'

'There is something here,' Bobby whispered.

Quite suddenly the ground opened before Sam's feet. Just like the road Dean and he had been on when they had their accident, a steep slope meant the end of this part of the forest ground. Bobby stopped next to Sam and the two men looked down. 'It's down there,' Bobby said, showing Sam the EM-monitor. 'We have to move. It's getting dark quickly.'

Sam shone the flashlight in what looked like a deep abyss. The green of the forest was turning into a deep, dark almost colorless mass of impenetrable vegetation. It got more difficult to distinguish details when suddenly a tiny reflection of the light came back.

'Bobby! There!'

Sam pointed the flashlight down and squeezed his eyes to try and see what was down there.

'What is it?' Bobby said, peering down like Sam did. He took out his own flashlight, which was bigger and had a brighter, stronger beam. 'It's a car,' he said slowly, moving the light from left to right.

About twenty five feet lower a rusty car wreckage, overgrown with ivy, moss and other plants sat plastered against the slope.

'Talk about déjà vu…' muttered Bobby. 'The tree's missing, but this is almost the way the Impala went over the edge. It must be it.' Bobby lowered his rucksack and took out a machete, which Sam clipped to his belt. 'Be careful, Sam.'

Sam nodded and slowly began the climb down. The slope was covered with moss and rotting leaves, which made the descent slippery and tricky but Sam reached the wreckage safely. The ivy leaves seemed untampered, and despite Bobby's assurance that this was what they were looking for, Sam could feel his heart tumbling down in his chest. It didn't look like anyone had been here for years. Decades.

'Dean?' he shouted. 'Dean, are you here?'

He yanked at the sticky ivy, pulled it away, looked through the broken window in the rusty door and shone inside with the flashlight. Involuntarily he took a step back. Four skeletons were roughly sitting and lying in the car, two in the front, two close to a crumpled figured in the back.

A flash of relief gushed through him when the ray of light hit a familiar face.

The crumpled figure in the back was his brother.

'Dean...'

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	14. 14: Let me heal you

**14: Let me heal you**

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><p>'He's here!' Sam called up to Bobby and took the machete from the clip. He cut away the leathery, thick ivy. How Dean had been able to get in, he couldn't figure out, but he got the vegetation out of the way and pulled at the door. It was stuck, wedged into the doorframe, rusted in place after all these years. Sam stuck his head through the frame. 'Dean! Dean, can you hear me? It's me, Sam! Open your eyes, Dean! Come on!'<p>

Dean was unresponsive. In the bleakness of Sam's flashlight, he looked bad. Pale as a sheet, dark rings under his eyes, blood streaks over his face, dark stains where dried-up blood had soaked his clothes a while ago. His arm hung in a peculiar angle over his chest. How long had he been in here? All this time?

From the rucksack Sam got a crowbar and used it to lift the door from its hinges. Finally, with a lot of screeching and squeaking and metal protesting, the door came lose and Sam got in.

'Dean! I'm here.' He touched his brother's face and gently patted it. 'Dean? Can you hear me?'

Beneath his fingers he could feel the cold in his brother's body. 'Dean... come on, please...' He searched for the jugular. Please please... Yeah! There it was, too slow and too faint for his liking, but it was good sign. 'Dean, we're gonna get you out, but you have to wake up.' Over his shoulder he cried out to Bobby: 'He's alive, but it's not looking good. Call a medivac!'

An affirmative answer came back from up top and Sam turned to Dean again. 'Come on, Dean. Wake up, buddy. We have to get you––'

A scream that could turn water into ice suddenly burst out inside the car. The next moment, Sam got thrown out of the car, through the air and then he slammed against a large rock. Something cracked. A rib. Two maybe. His head. The youngest of the two brothers let out a cry of pain. It brought stars to his vision. Blood ran down his face, into his right eye and the corner of his mouth.

'Oh my. Are you hurting? That doesn't look good,' a voice suddenly said. When Sam blinked away the fog that had momentarily clouded his vision, he saw a middle-aged woman kindly smiling at him. 'I heard something snapping. Ribs, I guess? You need a doctor. You want me to call a doctor?'

'No!' Sam grunted through gritted teeth. 'Get away from me. Let my brother go. Let me go.' Where was the salt gun? His fingers searched for it, but Molly was in the way. Her strength was incredible. Her small hand pressed his shoulder, the clavicle broke as if it was twig under his shoe. He shrieked with the sudden stab of a sharp, white hot pain. His arm was useless, he was unable to raise it. Pain made his eyes water, took his breath away.

In her hand a knife suddenly glistened. 'Ah, you're Dean's brother. My my, aren't you two the luckiest boys around? That's a bad shoulder you've got there, Sam. Let me heal you, sweetie. We might wanna take a look at that. Just let me cut away some of the fabric of your shirt and––'

A cry that went through Sam's gut like a razor blade, echoed against through the mountains. Sam blinked his eyes to see the car and the remains in it going up in flames, while Bobby dragged a lax figure out of harm's way. The female figure who was close to him, staggered backwards and with a shudder and a shrill scream she went up in flames.

'Sam? Sam, are you alright?' That was Bobby.

'Bobby... Dean, is he...'

'S-s-sammy? Are you there?'

There was only one person in the whole world who said his name like that.

'He's alive. Take it easy, Sam. You don't look that good.'

Sam let out an incredibly painful sigh and swallowed hard.

It was over.

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><p><em>(to be continued)<em>


	15. 15: The Getaway

**15. ****The Getaway**

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><p>'So I was away for how long?' Dean sat, comfortably resting against the pillows, in the hospital bed. An IV with antibiotics found its way into his arm, a fresh, white cast was around the other.<p>

'Six days.' Bobby said softly. In the other bed, Sam was dozing off the effects of a light anesthetic he had been given when the doctors had set his broken clavicle. 'You make a fine pair, the two of you.'

'What? Six days?' Dean was clearly puzzled.

'Yeah, how long did you think it was?'

Dean shrugged. 'A month, five, six weeks. I'm telling you Bobby - I was in a house, in a bed. Molly took care of me but it drove me bananas after a while.'

'You think you were in house, but you've been in that old car all that time.'

'I don't remember how I got there,' Dean said and rubbed his eyes. 'I sat on her porch.'

'Nope, you were in the car. All the time,' Bobby repeated.

'I'm telling you - I was in her house, drank her tea. She drove me down the road in her Ford Fairlane.'

'That's what she made you believe. It wasn't real, Dean. You never left the car,' Bobby said with a kind smile. 'Not strange considering the wack on the head you had. And the blood loss. And the broken arm.'

'Another six weeks with a cast,' Dean said, obviously not pleased with the prospect.

'Don't worry. Chicks––'

'Yeah yeah, chicks dig guys with broken bones. I know, I know.' He was running a fever and the drugs made him drowsy. He looked sideways to Sam, who was blinking a little. 'Hey look. He's coming round. Yo Sammy. Open your eyes, princess. Enough with the beauty sleep.'

Some unintelligible muttering came from the other bed. Then a soft groan. 'Dean?'

'Yeah, it's about time you woke up,' Dean said. '_The Getaway_ is on in ten minutes. No one beats Steve McQueen.'

'Great. He's back,' muttered Sam. Bobby laughed softly, got up and poured Sam a glass of water. 'Here, have a sip. How are you feeling?'

'Sleepy,' Sam answered inarticulately. 'What happened?'

'Alright,' said Bobby. 'At the risk of having to tell this twice… You were airlifted from the site. I called the sheriff, told him we found Dean and that you two were injured. The sheriff thinks you've wandered off when you were thrown out of the car, but hey - how much does he know about these things, right? He says you must have looked for shelter during the storm and you found that car and crept in. A Ford Fairlane '57, gone missing a year later, together with the owner, Garth Jones.

Molly's bones were also in the car, behind the wheel. When I set fire to the car and all the bodies burned, her ghost was finally destroyed. And that's the end of the story. There's no telling who the other bodies were, but I have a pretty good idea that they match the names of the people who went missing over the last century. Molly must have stashed them in the car. It seems - I've found another article about our crazy woodchopper on the internet - that he too tried to get away from Molly. He succeeded, cos just before she could get him back in the car, he was discovered by a forest ranger. If he hadn't he would have died in the Ford as well and I would never have made the connection. We would have believed that you drowned in the river, Dean.'

'It's strange,' Dean said thoughfully. 'She was really kind. Nice, you know. In a Ghostbusters kind of way-nice. Until she mojoed me back to bed.'

Bobby chuckled. Dean sounded more and more like himself. 'You being cooped up in that car between bodies and spirits was probably the reason why Cas couldn't tune in.'

'He should update his antenna,' Dean shrugged. 'I still don't get why I didn't notice it sooner. What did she do? Spike my soup?'

'Or you were just too groggy to notice,' Bobby said.

Dean yawned and sank back into the pillows a little further. Bobby, figuring that Dean had had enough for today, put on his jacket at which point the door opened and in came a female, attractive doctor. She checked on Sam who was asleep again and Dean, who eyed her with fever induced glistening eyes.

'Hi, my name is Doctor Henderson. How are you feeling, Mr Winchester?'

'I'm fine,' Dean lied convincingly.

'You were incredibly lucky. Six days in the forest - not many people live to tell that tale.'

Dean grinned broadly. 'Hey! I'm not many people - I'm the man! I'm over the moon to be here.'

A smile curled her lips. She was really pretty. 'You're quite warm,' she said as she checked his temperature.

'My temperature always goes up in the presence of beautiful women,' he said in typical Dean-style.

Bobby rolled his eyes. The boys would be fine. Dean would nag about the cast - and this one was to stay on for six _real_ weeks - and Sam would be walking around with his arm in a sling and a hurting chest but apart from that, they were fine.

'Bobby?'

'What?'

'Thanks.'

'Don't thank me. Thank your brother. You should have seen him when we were looking for you. That boy doesn't give up, you know. See you tomorrow.' Then he turned and left the room. Behind him, he heard Dean's voice.

'I'm serious. Your husband is a lucky man. What? No hubby? Call me Dean. Say doc - you got something to do tomorrow night?'

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><p>FIN<p>

_Thanks all for reviewing, adding alerts and favorites. It's great to know a story is actually being read. For now I'm done, but I might just give it another go some other time. In the meantime: keep enjoying the fabulous Supernatural boys._


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